


A Man of His Word

by AndWeMutate



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-03-09 19:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18923971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndWeMutate/pseuds/AndWeMutate
Summary: "He expects nothing more than mediocrity from Archie Andrews and yet, he’s not opposed to being surprised by him."Taking place around the timeline of season 2. A nondescript deal, a verbal agreement and Archie finds himself between the legs of his girlfriend's father.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another thing I can blame on Jen. She inspires me a lot and I'm super grateful for it. This all came about because of her mention Hiram calling Archie 'mijo' and, well, ta-da.
> 
> I'd also like to thank not only Jen but Guilty (poorwendy here on AO3) for putting up with me going on and on about making sure the one Spanish phrase I used was correct. Thank you guys!

“You always find a way to make yourself useful, Archie,” Hiram exhales. He’d said it before but the context this time was much different. Archie was upright that time, proud and full of promise, but oh, how glorious it was to watch him crumble. He did so beautifully, completely, and while Archie Answers was frustratingly resilient, those moments of weakness in between belong to Hiram Lodge. 

Archie, handsome and broad shouldered Archie, fit perfectly between Hiram’s legs. He no longer poses a threat this way. He no longer towers over anyone this way. Archie is compliant and Hiram is complacent. While hesitance still remains within the redhead, Hiram has proven he is a patient man...to a point.

He’s panting, cheeks flushed. Hiram tilts his head and watches Archie cycle through half a dozen scripted responses to the current situation. He’s slow to decide but Archie finally says, “If I do this, sir, you swear that Veronica…”

“She’ll never know,” Hiram replies. 

“And you’ll back off of Jughead?”

Too much talking. Hiram stifles a groan. “You have my word.”

They’re behind a locked door. They’re alone. All of Riverdale could be burning on the other side of this door and Hiram wouldn’t bat an eye.His focus was on Archie completely. Unfocused eyes, a wild and desperate need to be respected...it’s an attractive look, Hiram muses. He also finds it amusing how he asks first about Veronica rather than Jughead. He catalogs and compartmentalizes that particular piece of information, as he often does. There’s a spike of heat in Hiram’s chest, considering his daughter and Archie. While appearing respectable, Hiram believes Archie, like most boys, are blinded by the promise of intimacy. Hiram is also not a stupid man. Archie is flawed and in need of something more. While also using this moment to curb his own frustrations, he hopes it will sate Archie as well, to spare his precious daughter from wandering, unclean hands.

He’s done wasting time. Hiram unzips his slacks and frees his cock. He warns Archie with a stern glance and Archie, still showing a quiet bit of hesitance, obeys and takes Hiram into his hand. He inhales and holds his breath, giving the older man a few cautionary strokes. Hiram shows nothing in his expression, giving nothing away. Archie continues the slow action while Hiram grips the armrests of his chair. He kneads his fingertips into the expensive leather, a low grumble of approval rising from within. He’s being modest. Hiram needs to remedy this.

“Archie,” he says simply. When the redhead looks up, he’s immediately aware of what Hiram wants. This isn’t and wouldn’t be enough. 

He closes his eyes and nods. “Yes, sir,” Archie replies. He readjusts and leans forward.

Hiram immediately sighs, head tilting back against the chair. Mouth warm and wet, Hiram’s head begins to swim. Archie’s inexperienced and Lord, it shows, but it would have to do for now. He expects nothing more than mediocrity from Archie Andrews and yet, he’s not opposed to being surprised by him. He shifts just enough to make himself comfortable, unwilling to disturb the redhead. For now, he’d allow Archie time for interrupted exploration.

His nerves are getting the better of him and he can’t stop his body from trembling. Hiram Lodge, his girlfriend’s father was in his mouth. He was unapologetically and willingly in Archie’s mouth. Hiram was a man capable of anything, a fact Archie was acutely aware of, yet this was his course of action? This? Why? As his tongue glides along Hiram’s shaft, he’s unable to consider any rational explanation. Why this? Why him?

“You’re slacking, Mr. Andrews.” Hiram watches Archie internalize that sudden sense of panic and dread. He rolls his eyes and extends a hand to thread his fingers through Archie’s hair. The action itself is almost too gentle, too similar to something lovers do, but Hiram is quick to remedy that by gripping tightly and forcing Archie to focus. While Archie considers his words carefully, he takes pause to admire the sight before him, a proud and stubborn boy with a cock in his mouth. There’s something so very satisfying about this. Perhaps it’s because beyond the want to please Hiram, the desperate need to be accepted, there is also even the smallest iota of fear. It’s just enough. It’s all he needs. 

Archie takes these words to heart and begins to take Hiram in deeper. He lowers his mouth down onto Hiram and wraps his lips loosely around him. He dares not hesitate, not a moment longer, as he begins a second, more heartfelt attempt. His head bobs slowly, intently, eyes closed and breathing steady through his nose. His body remains stiff but from the neck up, he’s moving fluidly, all under the watchful eye of Hiram Lodge.

Still unimpressed, he watches Archie carefully. While remaining stone faced, his body reacts to the redhead. A wave of heat splashes over him and a coil of need tightens in his belly. Watching Archie only intensifies these sensations; the slow bob of his head, watching his shaft disappear into his mouth...what a little wonder Archie is. Perhaps he’d be better suited to back alley gangbangs with that pretty little mouth of his rather than his precious daughter.

Another oddly attractive thought. He dismisses it quickly and returns his focus to the rhythm Archie is surprisingly maintaining. Shallow breathing, steady movements, Hiram finds himself letting go of himself in pieces, allowing his body to live for this heated moment. He begins to unwind, begins to sink deeper into his chair. His grip on Archie’s hair loosens just enough to press the pads of his fingers into the teen’s scalp. It’s an insistent press, a quiet reminder not to stop. It’s not an invasive press, not used to guide him. No, it’s just enough to keep Hiram grounded, reminding him and Archie both of the gravity of the moment they both existed within.

Archie tries to distance himself from the moment, his reality, but he has to wonder what Hiram hopes to gain from this, what he wants to prove. If it’s to humiliate him, mission accomplished. But, why? While unable to come to any sort of rational conclusion, he steels himself and returns his attention to Hiram.

A low groan vibrates at the back of his throat. Archie’s tongue smoothes over his cock and he bites back a louder, more telling sound. He slides his fingers through Archie’s hair and sighs, “ _ Bien hecho, mijo _ .” He whispers this quietly under his breath, despite knowing Archie hadn’t the faintest idea what was said. For whatever reason, it satisfies him. It creates an intensity within him, a knee-jerk reaction that causes Hiram’s grip on Archie’s hair to tighten. He can feel the teen gasp around him, but the allure of it all has become too great. Admittedly, Hiram hadn’t expected to enjoy this as much as he is.

Archie pants around Hiram, his movements accelerating. He maintains his rhythm, managing to take him in a little deeper with each pass. He’s not thinking anymore, doing his best to zone out enough for the world around him to blur. He does his best to disregard Hiram’s words or the gravel in his throat and the acid in his stomach. All of it has to become static if Archie has any hope of getting through this. All he has to do is this, just this, and things would become easier. He hopes. He forces himself to believe. 

What prompts him to do this, he’s not sure, but he sucks a little harder at Hiram’s cock. An unexpected wave of raw heat causes Hiram’s toes to curl within his sensible shoes. An amused grin comes to rest upon his lips. “Archie,” he exhales, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were enjoying this.”

This snaps Archie back unwillingly into his current reality. Knowing better, he doesn’t stop moving, but he does angle his gaze upward. They’re staring at each other, held captive by the other’s gaze. Hiram expects a flash of defiance, a moment of stupidity, but he receives nothing more than compliance. He doesn’t spit Hiram out of his mouth and stumble to his feet, doesn’t spit venom and storm out. Instead, he smooths his tongue along the underside of Hiram’s cock and backs himself off just enough to wrap his lips comfortable around its tip, sucking hard. He maintains eye contact, watching Hiram resist the urge to allow his jaw to go slack and his mind to wander. Somehow, Hiram retains his composure but he can’t seem to hide the intrigue, the now ignited curiosity concerning the redhead’s newly acquired eagerness. 

He’s not quite sure, Archie deduces, why he feels the sudden urge to suck Hiram off for any other reason than to uphold his end of a bargain. He’s not quite sure why tracing his tongue along Hiram’s slit is making him unapologetically hard. The hand in his hair, the deep and breathy reactions to each and every action...Archie’s losing control of himself. He’s not concerned if his enthusiasm is gaining him anything. He’s determined now to finish what he’s started. 

Hiram’s head is tilted further back, half-lidded eyes staring at the ceiling. He struggles to catch his breath and he wills his head to stop spinning. He hadn’t expected this. This no longer seems like a punishment or an intimidation tactic. Archie’s enjoying this too much, it seems. Hiram, as he normally does, is reaping all of the benefits of the redhead’s fervor, but he does find it rather intriguing. It’s a piece of information to tuck away in his back pocket, something to save for a rainy day. 

Archie, without complaint or hesitation, continues to suck Hiram off. His jeans feel like they’re getting too tight, too restrictive, and he can’t stop himself from moaning around Hiram again. His hair is gripped that much tighter and this urges him on, drives him forward. He sucks harder, tongue lapping at every inch he’s offered. He’s in a trance, unwilling to admit a small, dark part of him just might be, rather is, enjoying the action, not necessarily the person. The brush of the tip against the back of his throat, the slick slide of Hiram’s cock as it finds its way in and out of his mouth, all of it makes the redhead’s insides twist and turn. He’s too wound up in the darker thoughts he’s drowning in to feel guilt. Even if this moment defined it all too well, the meaning was lost on him.

Hiram rolls his hips upward and bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. The slow, cautious roll becomes a steady thrust. He fucks Archie’s mouth, tilting his head down to watch. He watches the redhead’s eyes squeeze shut, watches him try not to gag. He does not stop. Still, Hiram has to give him credit; he’s taking it like Hiram expected him to.

There’s a stutter in Hiram’s movements, a grunt slipping out from between tightly pursed lips. He tightens his grip on Archie’s hair and pulls himself from the redhead’s mouth. With a few rough, spastic movements, Hiram uses his free hand to jerk himself off, finishing what Archie had started. He comes with a shudder, releasing himself across Archie’s face and neck. Riding out his orgasm, he finds himself particularly satisfied at the sight before him. Breathless, confused Archie, lips swollen and eyes glassy. Hiram is fond of this version of Archie Andrews.

His expression changes. He discards the half-lidded eyes and the slack jaw, exchanging it for an even, disappointed glance. “Clean yourself up,” he says sternly, standing and towering over the redhead. He adjusts himself with the glide of a zipper and the slip of a button into its rightful place. “You’re dismissed.”

Archie, still slightly dazed and only vaguely aware of the moment that’s fading back into focus, carefully lifts himself to his full height. His knees hurt and his head spins. He lifts his arm and wipes what remains of Hiram off of his face with the sleeve of his letterman jacket. “Yes, sir,” Archie replies. He leaves without a second glance, without another word.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The desperation lights a fire in Jughead and he’s content to burn. For Archie, he’d reduce himself to ash."
> 
> Unable to return home after the incident with Hiram Lodge, Archie finds himself turning to his best friend, Jughead, for a little relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After more than a month, I'm finally done. Yaaaaaay. It doesn't help that I only get the itch to write when I'm standing at my register at work or sitting in a Burger King at 8AM. Anyway, thank you to the people who read the first chapter and I hope you enjoy the conclusion!
> 
> Jarchie ruins me. Just thought you all should know.

After leaving Hiram’s well-furnished office, still tasting him on his lips, Archie is too wound up. He can’t go home, not yet. He was chasing his thoughts full sprint and he couldn’t catch up. Having felt unexpected things and now, every single emotion attached refusing to settle, he feels lost. Cheeks flushed, heart racing, Archie turns to the one person he trusts more than anyone, his best friend.

“Jug?” Archie holds the phone close to his ear, gripping it tighter than he realizes, “Jughead, you awake?”

A groan. “I am now,” he replies. Archie imagines he’s rubbing the sleep from his eyes (which he is.) “What’s up, Arch?”

It’s late, later than he expects. He’s about to apologize but words begin to tumble out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “Look...something happened and I can’t say what but I just...I can’t go home. I can’t. I’m...I’m just…”

He’s rambling. Jughead puts him out of his misery, the talking in infinite circles. “What do you need?”

“Is your dad home?”

Jughead pauses. “No, he’s at Pop’s. Archie, what’s goi--?”

“Can I stop by?” It’s important.” Archie inhales, feeling as though he hadn’t taken a single breath. “Please?”

Jughead’s tone immediately softens. There’s a sense of fondness in his voice, doing its best to mask his concern. “Of course. Door’s unlocked for you.” 

The bike ride is extremely awkward for Archie physically. There’s a frustratingly persistent throbbing between his legs and he struggles to keep his balance, struggles to keep his focus. Every bump in the road reminds him of what had just happened. Moments flash before his eyes and he swears to God that he can still feel Hiram at the back of his throat. It won’t stop. No matter how hard Archie squeezes his eyes shut and no matter how much of his own saliva he forces down his throat, it remains. It persists. It makes Archie sick to his stomach.

He has to pull over before he makes it to the trailer park. He stumbles off his bike and doubles over. Hunched over, he dry heaves for a few seconds and it feels like gravel scratching at the back of his throat. Tears form at the corners of his eyes as he squeezes them shut tighter, allowing the moment to pass. His entire world is tilting and jerking back and forth like a twisted carnival ride and Archie is desperate to get off. 

After a few minutes, the redhead manages to get back on his bike, pressing forward. When the trailer park is in sight, he pedals faster, weaving between whatever obstacles exist in his path. Nothing else matters. He pedals harder, unable to catch his breath. Even so, he forces himself forward, shoving that looming sense of dread aside. Just make it to the trailer. Make it there and Jughead’ll know what to do. He always does.

Jughead’s sitting on the couch when Archie nearly stumbles through the door. He’s gulping down air, hair disheveled, eyes darting around the room until he spots the familiar beanie. Immediately, Jughead’s concerned. He stands quickly and moves to Archie, a comforting arm coming to rest around the redhead’s shoulder. He’s no longer tired, no longer considering the sleep lost. His worry now lies entirely in Archie.

“I got you, Arch. Jesus, what happened?” He looked like hell. He guides his best friends to the couch, easing him down to sit. Archie looks uncomfortable, stiff and slightly dazed. Jughead sits beside him, body tilted towards him. His silence is concerning. Then again, who is he kidding? The entire situation is concerning. “Archie?” Jughead’s a little more insistent now.

He comes into focus again, very aware of where he is and who sits beside him. He’s very aware of what he did almost an hour ago and who he did it with. He’s very aware, too aware, and it’s making him lightheaded. Archie looks up and wills himself to speak but his mouth is dry and his words, whichever ones remained, elude him. He wants to answer his best friend’s question, wants to quell his worry, but he’s struggling. He’s only a witness to Jughead’s concern.

“Arch,” Jughead pleads, voice brittle, “talk to me.” 

The redhead inhales deeply, slowly. He struggles to do so, the relentless weight of guilt piled high on his chest. He tries to center himself again, forcing himself to focus on Jughead. “I just…” Archie speaks beyond that raw scratch in his throat. “Jug, I…” 

The Serpent prince hangs on Archie’s every fragmented word, desperate to piece together the events that led him here. He gives his friend’s shoulder a firm, reassuring squeeze, a reminder that he wasn’t alone. There was conflict within Archie Andrews, a swirling, angry whirlwind of uncertainty and Jughead knew that, maybe better than anyone else, but it never made him shy away. No matter the storm or its severity, Jughead would fight for Archie, even when the redhead forgot to fight for himself. 

“When we were younger, do you remember when we…” Archie’s voice trails off, his vague statement earning him a cocked brow from Jughead. He tries again. “We’d...lock the door and…”

It clicks. Jughead remembers vivid details the moment the words clumsily tumble from Archie’s mouth. It’d been at least two years since the last time they’d...locked the door but the memories remain crisp and vibrant in the back of his mind. “I remember,” Jughead replies softly, eyes never leaving the redhead’s. There’s a pause, a meaningful and deliberate pause. Archie wouldn’t bring it up unless, well… “Do you need me to...lock the door?” 

Archie stiffens up again. The implication behind the series of normally innocent words is enough to make him throb. Everything tenses at the same time and he visibly winces at the question. There’s a bit of hesitance, Archie feeling a bitter disappointment in himself rising before he relents and nods.

Lifting himself from the couch, Jughead moves to the door and locks it. This is something he doesn’t need his dad to walk in on. A nervousness swells in his chest as he returns to Archie’s side, only now fully aware that Archie was already hard. The jeans he wore hid it poorly, hugging his body in all the right places otherwise. He decides then to ask no more questions, noting the way his friends looked almost ashamed as he reaches forward and begins to undo the redhead’s pants.

They’d done this a few times before, months or sometimes years in between. The first time, it was a little awkward, two inexperienced boys exploring and fumbling through the motions, but they were best friends, right? They could go to each other for any and everything. This was no exception. Granted, it hadn’t happened since Betty and Version saunted into their romantic lives, but to Jughead, it didn’t change anything. It was a series of quiet moments he and Archie shared, mostly out of necessity, but still, Jughead was willing to do this without question for Archie. 

Jughead could feel Archie trembling as he slides a hand into his pants. He’s always been a marvel, Archie Andrews, even now as he shivers and leans into Jughead’s touch. A gentle hand fishes out Archie’s cock and the redhead manages a sigh of relief. He wastes little time, stroking the redhead slowly, evenly, and it earns him a low, appreciative groan.

Over the years, the two had developed a series of unspoken rules to go along with these particular activities. This wasn’t an intimacy thing, never had been. They had never kissed, never touched beyond what was necessary. They both had seemed okay with that, knowing this was strictly about lending a helping hand. They both had loving and attentive girlfriends so this was stress relief and nothing more. Since the beginning, that’s all it ever was, all it was meant to be.

Archie’s unwinding before his eyes. Jughead can almost see the knot in his shoulders loosening, the tension dissolving as he wraps his fingers a little tighter around him. He squeezes Archie almost teasingly and it elicits a reaction that causes Jughead’s insides to twist. Archie’s hips begin to meet his friend’s strokes. He’s moving with Jughead insistently and there’s something so needy about the action. He’s not sure if it’s just horny, boyish enthusiasm or something more. The question claws at Jughead. He’s watching Archie sink deeper into this, falling faster and tumbling into something as simple as his touch. Jughead wants to ask, wants to get inside of Archie’s head to find out what happened before this to create such a wild, untamed creature of need, but he decides to trade those words for actions. He meets the roll of Archie’s hips with longer, faster strokes. 

Slack jawed, the redhead feels the world around him begin to disappear. He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses solely on Jughead’s hand and the hastened pace it’s keeping. He writhes against the couch, his body twitching with every stroke. Archie feels like he’s floating, even if the memory of what happened before this tries to keep him grounded. Hiram forces his feet on the ground but Jughead takes him higher.

“Shit, Jug…” Fragments of praise trickle from Archie’s mouth and there’s a prideful little part of Jughead Jones that smirks because of it. He watches Archie, watches his face twist and watches his body react to even the smallest movement. While he hasn’t forgotten the look on Archie’s face when he came into the trailer or the worry that still weighs heavy on his heart, it all begins to melt into a pool of comfortable heat and Jughead is losing himself fully, completely, in Archie.

The redhead is in an altered state, compromised by Hiram Lodge. The moments replay behind his eyes, no matter how tightly he squeezes them shut. He hears Hiram’s voice, a low and authoritative growl. He feels the press of Hiram’s fingertips into his scalp. It rushes back all at once and threatens to drown him. Archie inhales sharply, the thoughts invasive yet still arousing. He pulses in Jughead’s  hand, feeling Jug but remembering Hiram. It’s twisted. He’s disgusting. What is wrong with him? 

He can’t catch his breath. His hips continue their unrelenting thrusting upward into Jughead’s hand. He doesn’t deserve this right now or even at all. He suddenly feels like he’s indirectly using his best friend to get off because Hiram wouldn’t allow him to. As want desperately rips through him, Archie’s combating a myriad of thoughts, all of which claim a distinct lack of sincerity and the glaring issue of being turned on by Veronica's father treating him like garbage. There’s that, of course. 

It won’t stop. The thoughts are loud and prying and as much as he tries to deny, deny, deny, he’s reminded that he showed up at Jughead’s door with a hardon and a selfish need in mind. However, he clings to the one pure and perhaps too innocent idea that unlike with Hiram, Jughead was someone Archie...someone he could have or perhaps already…

Before he realizes it, Archie leans in toward his best friend and steals an unapologetic kiss. It wasn’t meant to last. Jughead pulls back almost instantaneously, eyes wide, heart racing. His hand stops its heated motion and for a few long seconds, he’s dumbfounded. They’d never...not during...and Jughead just took it as some sort of unspoken rule. Guy code or whatever. But, all of a sudden, he has no idea what to think.

Archie swallows hard. He can’t breathe. He doesn’t know why he did that. He has no idea. Jughead doesn’t seem mad but Archie’s more mad at himself so he’s making up for it. Instead of clumsily tripping over an apology, instead of fighting for the words, the defeated redhead exhales. He looks Jughead in the eye and utters, “Jug...please,” in the smallest, most broken little tone Jughead had ever heard. He says nothing more but it was more than enough.

Archie was damaged, something Jughead knew but honestly, it wasn’t like Jughead managed to pull himself together completely either. But, there was something about this, this very moment, that made the serpent prince realize that maybe, here and now, he could take one of the jagged little pieces of his best friend, too sharp for Archie to handle, and help him put it back where it belonged. Maybe this piece was important, more so than the others, and if Jughead knew how to help fix him, who was he to deny him? How could he deny him?

The initial shock subsides and Jughead’s expression softens, his hand resuming its rhythmic stroking. He leans in and kisses Archie. It shocks Jughead, how quickly the redhead melts into him. He’s eager, more than Jughead might have expected, but he offers it no more thought than necessary and sinks into Archie the very same way. Their lips fit together beautifully, tongues messily sliding against one another. Archie groans, the sound vibrating between their lips, and Jughead hungrily swallows the sound down, feeling it reverberate the entire way down. 

It hits him in the oddest way. He’s jerking off his best friend, which isn’t exactly new information. Not only that, but he’s kissing him too. Not just a peck either. Even that isn’t what hits him, no. It’s the fact, the irrefutable fact, that Jughead doesn’t hate it. Not one bit. He’s finding a sense of calm in this, despite the frantic way their lips collide. There’s something he can’t name, a feeling that exists beyond the shock and confusion and he’s not adverse to it, not in the slightest. Maybe that scares him, he’s not sure, but Jughead shoves all of that aside and channels that desperate want to take care of Archie.

The steady thrust of his hips into Jughead’s hand finds a new, faster pace. It matches the fervency of their kiss, erratic and wild. Archie nearly chokes on a moan as Jughead runs the pad of his thumb over the tip of his cock. Still, he persists and refuses to break away from this kiss. His chest aches and his body shivers but Archie does not stop and neither does Jughead. He’d likely allow his lungs to burst before relenting from this heated kiss. The serpent knows there’s a weight to this kiss, something that gnaws at him, makes him dizzy. He knows, feels it in his very core, that this is what Archie needs. Breathing is irrelevant.

He picks up the pace, feeling Archie react to him instantly. He writhes, pushing against Jughead’s lips needily. The desperation lights a fire in Jughead and he’s content to burn. For Archie, he’d reduce himself to ash.  

Their lips part abruptly, the redhead panting wildly. He feels the coil of heat in his belly, searing heat clawing its way out of him any way it can. He fidgets, lips tingling. His eyes open and his vision blurs, only a small line clear and focused. Archie steadies himself on Jughead and that smooth junction between his shoulder and his neck. He lurches forward and presses his lips to warm skin that Jughead’s t-shirt fails to hide and the serpent gasps. His movements stutter but return quickly, a newly added twist to Jughead’s wrist.

“Arch…” pants Jughead. He feels the subtle scratch of Archie’s tongue, the wetness of his lips. The redhead finds a place he’s satisfied with and sucks a mark just above his shoulder. It takes Jughead a few moments to recall how to breathe but he forgets again when Archie moans into the crook of his neck. It feels like this raw heat is seeping out of every orifice, replacing blood with steam. 

The rules no longer apply.

The two move with messy, though somehow still precise rhythm. Archie picks and chooses patches of skin, using a blend of tongue and teeth to mark Jughead’s neck and the little he can reach of his collarbone and shoulder. They’re panting messes and together, they’re spiraling downward into their own personal madness. Leaning against one another, dependant on the other’s weight, reliant on the simple fact that they’re there, they move closer towards something new together, something without explanation, but not something without consequence. 

Archie’s breathing becomes more erratic, reluctantly pulling away from Jughead’s neck in a failed attempt to catch his breath. He reaches forward and grips Jughead’s shirt tightly, back arching, hips thrusting upward. He tries to tell the serpent, tries to warn him, but before the words find him, Archie shudders, inhales sharply and comes. He twitches and rides out his orgasm in the palm of Jughead’s hand. It’s intense, more than usual, but Archie lacks the capacity to consider it fully. Not now. Instead, his body comes to rest against the couch, the world around him coming to an abrupt halt.

Jughead tracks the spasms through the redhead’s body as he strokes Archie a few more times, just for good measure. He watches the tension release his best friend and Jughead’s satisfied, albeit overwhelmed. He’s warm and reeling but satisfied and he hopes Archie feels the same.

“Hey, Jug?”

He’s reaching over and grabbing the box of tissues that’s sitting on the coffee table, taking a few and wiping off his hand and whatever other mess they may have made. “Yeah?”

Archie struggles momentarily. “About...what I did…” he begins sheepishly.

There’s a moment where Jughead is curious about what his explanation could be, what words he’d choose, how he’d defend breaking an unwritten rule or two. He’s curious but he’s not cruel. He dismissively waves a hand. “It’s good, Arch. Really.”

“But, Jug, I…”

Jughead playfully, gently, nudges his best friend in his shoulder with an open palm. “Dude, seriously. It’s good. We’re good.” 

A soft, almost sad smile tugs at the corner of Archie’s mouth, acknowledging the serpent with a sense of reverence that was seemingly reserved just for him.  “Thanks, Jug.” 

Jughead exhales and lifts himself to his feet. He stretches a bit and tilts his gaze towards the redhead. “It’s late so feel free to crash here if you want. You know the drill. Help yourself to whatever. Let me know if you need anything. Got it?” 

He manages a chuckle, buttoning up his pants, slouching against the couch. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

“Good.”

Making sure Archie is settled on the couch, Jughead retreats to the bathroom. Door locked, the serpent stares at his own reflection in the mirror. There’s a wild look in his eyes, the boy staring back at him seemingly someone he can’t exactly recognize. He searches his reflection’s face for something, anything to link the two, before he notices the dark red patches littering his neck. Jughead reaches to touch one of the spots Archie left behind, trailing his fingertips across it. The faint indentations of the redhead’s teeth fill him with...something and whatever it is, it refuses to settle.

Jughead leans against the locked door and jerks himself off. Tending to Archie had made him blind to his own needs and while it hadn’t bothered him then, it was pestering him now. He leans his head back, closes his eyes and throws himself headfirst into the still fresh memories of moments ago. He bites his lips, still tasting Archie, still feeling the press of his lips and the heat which accompanied them. He curses under his breath.

Before he realizes it, he comes, breathless and shivering. Without the friction, without the panting and groaning, Jughead Jones was suddenly left alone with his thoughts. Presently, it was a very dangerous place to be. “Damn it,” he mutters, the weight of many questions causing his shoulders to slump. Archie had complicated things again, hadn’t he? He was good at that, too good, but it was one of the redhead’s little complexities that kept Jughead’s life interesting, kept Jughead by Archie’s side.

It Jughead wasn’t there to save Archie from himself, who would?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. Reading is hard. I tried my best but sorry for any errors.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, beta'd by me so sorry for any glaring errors.
> 
> I'm working on a second part to this so tags will be adjusted when the time comes~


End file.
